Gemotions

He stared at the page. "Take a pottery class." The words swam before his eyes. Mark hadn't even known Sarah *liked* pottery. He’d known her for five years, lived with her for three. And this… this suggested a secret life.

The handwriting, a bubbly script he’d always found endearing, suddenly seemed… theatrical. He picked at a cuticle. He thought about the evenings they spent together, the shared takeout and television shows. Had she secretly yearned for this… *clay*?

He felt a prickling sensation on his skin, a need to scrub, to wash away the imagined dirt of her hidden desires. He pictured her hands, covered in mud, the smile she’d wear while doing it. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He slammed the list back onto the bedside table.